When Masks Fall
by ivyclarice
Summary: Lily Evans and Quirinus Quirrell fall in love during their 5th year. The Gryffindor/Slytherin couple do not have a lot of fans. This story is older now, and in need of an update and editing, but still has its good points.
1. The weakest goes to the wall

**Title:** When Masks Fall (1 of 13)  
**Author:** ivyclarice  
**Summary:** Lily Evans must've dated _someone_ before James Potter.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** 5th year at Hogwarts: Evan Rosier, Severus Snape, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black, Avery, Wilkes, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans, Quirinus Quirrell  
**Pairings:** Lily/Quirrell, Bellatrix/Rodolphus  
**Warnings:** Adult language  
**Word Count:** 7,041  
**Author's Notes:** Because of _The Half-Blood Prince_, I had to rewrite and repost chapter one of this story, shifting Professor Heller to the Divination position. Those of you who've already read chapter one may either re-read it in its new form (only slightly edited), or you can just assume that all the action happened in Divination class and leave it alone. In addition, I had to shuffle the 5th year students' schedule so that Gryffindor and Slytherin share Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.

_**When Masks Fall**_

Chapter 1: "The weakest goes to the wall."

-_Romeo and Juliet_, (Act I, Scene I)

Lily Evans wasn't a fan of Divination class with the Slytherins, but she supposed there were worse things. James Potter trying to act all cool at the breakfast table was a case in point. What was his problem? Why did he have to be such a conceited prat?

"All right, class!" Professor Heller called suddenly, clapping his hands together. "Today we're going to have an odd sort of Divination lesson, one that will probably remind you more of Potions than Divination in fact, but take my word for it - you'll be pleased with the results. First, take out the cauldrons I asked you to bring and follow the steps I've printed on the blackboard, then bring me a sample of your Second Sight Potion by the end of class. Next session we'll use what you've made for scrying, but only if what you've made is any good. Any failures result in a zero for the day."

Most of the class groaned at Professor Heller's instructions, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. Regular Potions class with Professor Slughorn was difficult enough, but to have an additional go at it with the oldest, meanest teacher in the school was not a prospect that any of the students enjoyed.

Lily, with thoughts of Potter's arrogant little smirk and early morning antics still chewing at her, paid Heller only a cursory amount of attention. But what business did Potter have being on her mind while she was supposed to be working, anyway?

With a sigh, she forced herself to obey Professor Heller's first instruction and set up her cauldron. She then frowned up at the board and carefully began to follow the steps that were written there. A fussy, volatile old man, Heller had selected a concoction that was as ill-tempered as he was, and Lily was not about to rush through the procedure and risk mistakes.

It took her about ten minutes to work her way through steps one and two, which was a little slower than she would've liked. The problem was that she was still stewing about Potter's obnoxious behavior at the breakfast table that morning. Having to watch him in the act of eating was bad enough, but when he'd glanced over at her before leaning across the table to get Sirius Black's attention, she'd known he was up to something.

"You know what happens to people at St. Mungo's, Sirius?" James had asked, working around his mouthful of porridge.

Sirius had immediately stopped poking at his eggs, a grin spreading across his face.

"What?"

Allowing his mouth to fall slack, James had forced porridge to glop down the side of his face and fall back into his bowl in clumps.

"They get Obliiiiviaaated!" he droned like a zombie, his tongue lolling nastily around the outside of his mouth.

In utter disgust, Lily had stood up and left the breakfast table. Not only was Potter not taking into consideration that people overhearing might have family in St. Mungo's, he was just being mean. What kind of person would make fun of people so rattled by magical spells that they were unable to care for themselves anymore?

And now here was Potter in class, sharing a spot with Sirius again, just as arrogant and awful as before.

"I wouldn't d-do that if I were you," a voice said softly from her left a few minutes later, interrupting her thoughts of James Potter's ridiculous hair and ever-slipping glasses. "You d-don't want to add that salamander blood just yet."

Blushing a little at her obvious mistake, Lily hastily put down her vial of salamander blood and picked up the frozen ashwinder egg instead, then stole a glance over at her rescuer.

"Thanks," she murmured, embarrassed to admit that she hadn't even heard Quirinus Quirrell sit down beside her and set up his cauldron. "I don't know where my mind's at."

Smiling a little, Quirrell shook his head at her. A lock of his hair, brown and neatly trimmed, bobbed down against his forehead.

"It's nothing," he told her. "I just thought I'd help."

Unsure what she should say to this, Lily compromised by making a show of tucking her own hair behind her ears and pushing up the sleeves of her robes. Maybe if she looked busy, she wouldn't have to keep talking about the foolish error she'd almost made.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quirrell's smile fall and realized that it seemed like she was giving him a bit of a brush-off. Now doubly embarrassed, she strove to think of something that would assure him that she was thankful, but would also change the subject.

"Not to be mean," she said, "but I never expected to have a Slytherin help me in Divination. So, thank you."

For a moment, Quirrell didn't reply. He was too busy marking the counterclockwise stirs of his cauldron. When he was done, he put down his staff and looked over at her. She flipped over her five-minute hourglass so that she'd know when to add her salamander blood, and then turned back to him, waiting for him to speak.

"Not all Slytherins are like them," he told her, nodding in the direction of his classmates.

Like most of the other Gryffindors, the Slytherin students sat in tight clusters throughout the classroom. There were two to a table in Divination, and she and Quirrell happened to be the odd ones out today.

Most of the time, Quirrell sat alone while Lily shared a table with one of her girlfriends. Today though, she'd been running late, and rather than disrupt the class by going to the front where her friends were, she had settled for the empty table in the back of the room. Apparently Quirrell had also arrived late and suffered a similar problem, deciding that it was preferable to join her in back than go up front with the other Gryffindor girls. She supposed she couldn't blame him.

Shifting her eyes across the room to take in the other Slytherins Quirrell had indicated, Lily noted that Bellatrix Black was seated beside a girl whose name Lily could never remember. The girl's carroty hair and stubby, misused face gave her the look of a child's crudely carved jack-o-lantern. Lily found this arrangement odd, since Black usually sat with her boyfriend, Rodolphus Lestrange, and wondered idly if the two had argued earlier.

The pumpkin-faced girl seemed delighted to have the elegant Black next to her, though every time Bellatrix glanced over at her partner, a wrinkle of disgust formed on her features that wouldn't quite dissipate until she rubbed the prefect's badge on her chest like a lucky charm.

Dismissing them, Lily moved on to examine the other Slytherin students.

Severus Snape had his head lowered over his cauldron and Rodolphus Lestrange (sitting beside Snape, today) was studying the instructions on the blackboard with an almost mind numbing concentration. They were the exceptions, however. Their other friends, Rosier, Wilkes and Avery, were laughing and glancing over at where James Potter and Sirius Black were sitting and minding their own business.

Lily thought the three boys looked like they were up to something, but there was nothing in sight to incriminate them; nothing that exploded, nothing that stank, and nothing that injured…so perhaps they were just poking fun at James and Sirius and thinking that they were funny in doing so.

James and Sirius (oblivious to their spectators) were behaving themselves for a change. Both boys appeared to be more intent on following the instructions on the blackboard than on what was going on around them. They would pause every once in a while to confer over the directions, then return to tending their cauldrons. Twice while she was watching, James's glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them up without thinking, and she suddenly realized she was staring.

Trying to ignore the color again rising to her cheeks, Lily looked back at Quirrell with a frown, not exactly sure what point he was trying to make.

She could already tell he wasn't like the other Slytherin boys in his year by the shiny prefect's badge which glittered against his robes, the counterpart to Bellatrix Black's. Then, of course, there was the fact that he'd bothered to sit with and speak to her in the first place.

"Not all Slytherins are like _what_, exactly?" She urged, unsatisfied. She thought she knew what he was driving at, but just pointing out his fellow 5th years and asking her to read into them was not very helpful.

Quirrell watched her a moment longer, as if waiting for her to catch on, his eyes holding hers. She was struck suddenly by how enormous and blue they were. They were a lovely, vivid shade of cornflower blue, but they were so big that they gave him the air of a frightened rabbit - or, even worse - a frightened squirrel.

Though Quirrell was a little taller than she was, he was slender and still small for his age, and his round, childish face did nothing to help matters. Adding in his stutter and his unfortunate surname, he was a ready-made target for bullies - which Rosier, Wilkes, Black, and Avery definitely were. Even Snape got in on the 'fun' sometimes. No doubt it was refreshing for him to pick on someone even lower in the hierarchy than he was.

Equally as unpopular throughout Hogwarts as Severus Snape, Quirinus Quirrell suffered an additional handicap (aside from a slowly improving stutter): even in Slytherin House, he had no friends. Granted, Snape's friends could be petty and cruel to one another, but at least they were there.

Lily had never really paid Quirrell much mind before now, but she'd seen him being pushed around and teased before…not too badly, but enough to know that his Housemates despised him even more than people outside of Slytherin House did. Glancing again at his badge, she wondered if prefecture had made his lot any easier.

"Belief in pureblood eugenics and a streak of cruelty d-do not a Slytherin make," he answered a few seconds later, once again looking over at his Housemates.

Lily raised her eyebrows.

"No? You're not all like that? What got _you_ into Slytherin, then?" She said this more aggressively than she'd intended, but noticed that he didn't seem perturbed by it. He merely glanced at her hourglass to see how much time had passed since she'd turned it, stirred his potion clockwise twice, and then turned back to her.

"Well, the Sorting Hat thought about putting me in Ravenclaw, actually, but it must have realized something about me."

This made Lily sit up and take notice. Intrigued against her will, she leaned toward him a little. In their five years at Hogwarts together, she'd never heard Quirrell speak more than perhaps two dozen words, half of which he'd stuttered to the point that they'd become incomprehensible. Of course, as were she and Snape, Quirrell was a member of Professor Slughorn's club of students, but even in such a small group, Quirrell never spoke. He merely sat and listened, all but fading into the background of the room as other people with more force outshone him. Snape had once told his friends that the only reason Quirrell was in the club at all was because his father worked for the Ministry. Lily, overhearing this, had just assumed it was true.

It was because of all these things that she'd never given Quirrell much thought, writing him off as just another Muggle-hating little snake - and a slightly ludicrous one, at that. But now it seemed that she'd been wrong. Upon closer inspection, not only was he rather cute, but he was interesting, as well. Even a little mysterious. And his stutter was obviously improving as he got older. She recalled the first time she'd heard him try to answer a question in class; he'd managed to get out the word 'the' with no problem, but he'd stumbled over his second word so badly that the professor had actually interrupted him to get him to stop. Now he appeared to be able to go several sentences without any trouble, and his hesitations were minor.

"What did the Hat realize about you?" she prompted once it became clear that he wasn't going to just offer this bit on his own.

Their eyes met again and one corner of his mouth curled upward. It was a small motion but he had a fine mouth, full-lipped and bee-stung.

"Your t-timer is done," he said, nodding toward it.

"Oh!"

Lily sat back upright and hurried to add her three drops of salamander blood. She could feel her cheeks flushing yet again and struggled against it. She felt like an utter dolt for being so air-headed, especially in front of non-threatening Quirrell, of all people.

She was just getting ready to face him again and ask about the Hat when a sharp voice startled her.

"By now you should be at least halfway through your Draught of Second Sight. Preferably even further than that."

Alarmed, Lily glanced up at the blackboard and groaned. She was only on step 3 out of 8. Glancing at Quirrell's cauldron (the contents of which glowing an alarming shade of orange), she guessed that he had to be on either step 5 or 6. What had she been doing this whole time?

"Your solution should be orange in color," Professor Heller continued, clapping his grizzled hands together again for emphasis, "the more vivid, the better."

This helped her to relax a little. Her potion was definitely orange. Though it had not yet attained the near-nuclear hue that Quirrell's had, she felt sure it would…if she could manage to catch up.

Heller began stalking his way up and down the rows to check on the work being done. He was so old and stooped that his hunter green robes trailed several inches behind him on the floor as he walked and his weathered old face bore more resemblance to a baked apple than a human being. His great age, however, did nothing to impede his temper (which was legendary), or to relax his teaching style (which was militant and old-school).

He paused to inspect Potter's and Black's cauldrons, and gave them a grunt and a nod.

"Good work, Black," he said, his tone curt and grudging. "Good body on that potion. Fast work."

Lily watched Sirius shoot a grin across the room at Remus Lupin, who was so caught up in his own potion that he didn't notice.

Eyeing her hourglass anxiously, Lily noticed Heller lean over James Potter's cauldron so closely that she thought he might blister his nose off. She could see James's jaw set as he prepared himself for criticism from the old man. The muscles there tightened even further once Heller straightened.

"Very good, Potter. Excellent specimen." Heller paused to study the two boys, both affecting a casualness that Lily suspected they didn't actually feel. "Congratulations, gentleman," he said at last. "You've just earned yourselves a total of 5 points for Gryffindor."

Unable to control himself, Potter turned to flash Lupin a thumb up. Before she could look away, he caught Lily's eye and a grin welled up on his face. With a sigh, Lily returned to her work. Of course he'd think she was looking at him when in fact she'd only been marking Heller's progress through the classroom. 

Doing the mental arithmetic, Lily realized that she and Quirrell would be inspected last. With a rush of relief, she began to hurry, trying to catch up to the others so that there would be no reason for the old man to take points from Gryffindor.

Professor Heller continued to walk up and down the aisles, occasionally stopping to inspect someone's work, or to Vanish a particularly bad sample, he came to a stop again in front of Severus Snape and Rodolphus Lestrange.

It was yet another odd seating arrangement, Lily thought as she adjusted the heat under her cauldron, because usually Evan Rosier claimed the seat next to Snape and would not relinquish it. But as horrible as Rosier was, she doubted that even he would be foolish enough to fight Rodolphus Lestrange over something as trivial as a seating arrangement.

"Good job, Lestrange," the old man said, "and you, too, Snape. Excellent coloring. 5 points to Slytherin."

Rodolphus Lestrange smiled, looking pleased with himself. A slow, methodical thinker, he didn't do well in classes which required quick or critical thinking. His star really shone in Potions, where his pondering nature was a boon, so brewing on in Divination class was an added bonus for him, she was sure.

Lily reverse-stirred her draught a half dozen times, watching Professor Heller's progress warily.

"Once more," Quirrell murmured.

Lily blinked and turned to face him.

"What?"

"Stir it once more. You're short one."

Resisting the urge to clap a hand to her forehead, Lily added another counterclockwise stir. For a fraction of a second, her potion flared an ugly, jaundiced yellow, inciting a panic in her midsection. It stayed like that for three horrible seconds, and then deepened back to orange.

Anxious about the professor's closing distance, she glanced back up to note his path just in time to see him clench a gnarled fist and clout Evan Rosier in the back of the head.

"What the hell is this supposed to be, Rosier?" Heller snarled, slamming a hand down on the table next to the black-haired boy's cauldron.

Rosier snapped around to look at the old man, his peculiar violet eyes flat with murder.

"Second Sight Potion, sir," he replied, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "When it's brewed, you leave it in the cauldron and look into it for visions of the future." His voice dripped like icicles as he spoke.

"And is it supposed to be pink as a cat's arsehole?" Heller demanded, raspy voice breaking as its volume rose.

"No."

Heller lifted his hand again, as if to smack Rosier in the mouth. Lily watched in horrified fascination, just barely remembering to stir her own potion clockwise twice. Though this sort of exchange had happened between Rosier and Professor Heller a few times over the years, Lily could never seem to get used to it. It was impossible to look away once it happened, not unlike being a witness to a car crash.

"No, _what_?" The professor said, glaring at the boy with a stare equally as murderous.

"No, 'sir'," Rosier replied so nastily that Lily half-expected to see venom spray as he spoke.

Heller whipped out his wand.

"_Evanesco_," he snapped, Vanishing the boy's solution. "A zero for you today, Rosier - and a week's detention for that nasty temper of yours," the old man seemed to debate here, then added, "and 10 points from Slytherin."

Satisfied with the fury on Evan Rosier's face, Professor Heller moved on.

Quirrell shook his head and examined his potion from a horizontal angle.

"The only t-time Rosier ever does anything right is when Snape sits next to him and whispers the answers in his ear. I realize he's not stupid, but he's so lazy."

"I'd be a hypocrite if I laughed at that," Lily said, squinting to double-check step six. "I'd be the one with a zero for the day if you hadn't helped me."

This time it was Quirrell who reddened, which lifted her spirits some. She was just about done with blushing today.

"It's not like you n-n-n-_needed_ help," he said. "You're just preoccupied today."

Lily did not argue with this. Both halves of his statement were true: she was usually an excellent student, and she most certainly was preoccupied by something today.

"Look at the color on this, Lupin. It looks like a weak cup of tea," Heller was saying two tables ahead of them. "It won't work very well."

"I'm sorry, sir," Lupin said, sounding anxious to avoid the same fate Rosier had met.

"No, don't give me sorry," Heller warned him. "Give me answers. Can you tell where you went wrong?"

Lupin peered up at the blackboard, glanced at his honey-colored potion for confirmation, then up at the professor.

"I didn't stir it enough times, sir."

"Good. That's right," Heller agreed, crinkled mouth splitting into a smile which revealed the occasional missing tooth. "How do you know that, lad?"

This time, Lupin didn't hesitate.

"I know because the orange color didn't start to fade until after I finished step five."

"Excellent. Now - is there any way to fix this?"

"I don't think so, sir."

Heller straightened and amiably clapped Lupin on the back with enough enthusiasm to make the boy's shaggy brown hair flop into his face, then gave him a nod.

"That's correct. Normally, you'd have to start over. One point to Gryffindor for thinking that through the right way."

The old man paused to Vanish the foul looking potion Peter Pettigrew had brewed, which had not only turned the ugly reddish-purple of a blood clot, but was also a vapor rather than a liquid. He then turned to face the class.

"The reason I gave Lupin that point is because he effectively used critical thinking," he told them.

Lily breathed a sigh of relief. The old man liked to ramble, and this would end up buying her enough time to finish before Heller reached their table. Next to her, Quirrell was already done and appeared to be listening to Heller with unfeigned interest.

"Now, I know most of you lot couldn't think your way out of a dark room without stubbing your toes, but critical thinking is a skill you must learn.

"When I asked Lupin what was wrong with his draught, he didn't just say 'I don't know'. He thought back, reasoned out the problem, then made an educated guess as to whether or not the damage could be undone. That is a skill which will get Lupin places in life." 

Heller surprised the class by turning around and jabbing a twisted finger at Rodolphus.

"It's also a skill you'd better learn, Lestrange, unless you want to do grunt work all your life. It's one thing to be patient and cautious, but if you make a mistake, you need to be able to fix it...or know when not to bother."

Lestrange lowered his head a moment, as if embarrassed. When he raised it again, dull streaks of crimson were tattooed across his cheeks, and Lily felt a little sorry for him. Though he was by no means nice to her, he wasn't exactly mean, either. He just ignored her. Amongst his friends, however, he was very likeable. He did not usually bully any of the other students; he worked hard, and was patient. She'd heard that he was difficult to anger, but had a vicious streak in him when roused. Personally, she'd never seen such a display and doubted the rumor's veracity.

Sitting back in her seat, Lily lowered the heat under her cauldron. Heller's blathering had done the trick. She was finished. Quirrell looked over at her, noting that she'd shifted in her seat.

"That was fast," he said admiringly. "And it looks good."

"Thank you. Lets hope Professor Heller thinks so, too."

With that tiny, almost impish smile Quirrell spoke.

"I d-d-don't see how he couldn't think so, Evans," he said, his smile switching to a look of pain as he struggled with his stutter. "You d-did an excellent job," he added. "And so quickly, too."

"Thanks," she said again, feeling apprehensive as old man Heller walked up to their table. "But call me Lily, all right?"

"I wuh-wuh-will," Quirrell said. "Thank you."

Without speaking, Heller approached them and leaned down to study Quirrell's potion, looking at it from several angles as if to enjoy its bouquet. His robes fluttered with the movement and an unpleasant, dusky-sweet scent of rotten leaves drifted into Lily's nostrils. Appalled, she drew back, but forced herself still as Heller rounded upon her.

He looked into her eyes for a second, a nasty smile appearing on the slash that was his mouth. She got the feeling that he could sense her distaste of him, but willed herself to stay relaxed. His blue eyes with their yellowing sclera drifted away from her and regarded her cauldron.

"Actually, I do think this Draught is good, Evans," he said, surprising her. She hadn't realized he could hear her talking to Quirrell from so far away. "I didn't think you were going to finish in time, but you did fine. Flask it and put it on my desk. You too, Quirrell." Heller raised his voice and turned toward the class again. "Those of you who didn't have your potion Vanished, put some in a flask and leave it on my desk. If I Vanished yours, you owe me six inches of parchment tomorrow on what went wrong…except you, Rosier. I want a foot from you."

"I'll give you a foot, all right, you old bastard," Rosier muttered, glowering at Heller's back as the Divination instructor made his way back to the front of the class.

Next to Rosier, Wilkes laughed as he bottled his own orange juice-colored potion. Big, blond, and almost hectic in his unending good cheer, Wilkes looked a little like an orangutan playing with a chemistry set as he sealed his flask.

"Leave it alone, Evan," she heard Snape say from further ahead. "It's not worth more trouble."

"But, Severus..."

"Leave it," Snape repeated. "We don't need to lose any more points."

Grudgingly, Rosier closed his half-opened mouth and stared hatefully down into his empty cauldron. Lily watched a moment longer, curious. No one knew why Rosier so often did as Snape asked, but most people were glad he did. It wasn't exactly that Snape had control over Rosier, because he didn't. It just seemed that Rosier was more willing to oblige Snape's requests than he was anyone else's.

Heller appeared not to hear this exchange (or possibly not to care). As was his wont at the end of a class, he was back at his desk and recapping the House points.

"Five points to Slytherin for three top quality samples - that's you, Snape. Quirrell and Lestrange, also. Then five points to Gryffindor for three top quality samples from Potter, Black and Evans. Lupin, you already have your point for your answers to my questions. Rosier, you loused it up for everyone in our House by losing more points for Slytherin than were earned." Heller glanced around that the faces in front of him with his sunken eyes. "All right. You're dismissed."

In a hurry so that she wouldn't be late for her next class, Lily gathered her things and started to leave. She made it a few steps before a thought struck her and she suddenly turned around. Walking the short way back to where Quirrell was still collecting his items, she noted that most of the class was also still packing their things.

Sensing her presence, Quirrell looked up at her, surprise stamped across his features as he shoved a book into his bag.

"D-did you forget something?" he asked, looking around the table and chairs for something she might have left behind.

"No, you just never had the chance to answer my question."

Puzzled, Quirrell shook his head, fingers lacing the clasps on his shoulder bag.

"What question?"

Lily smiled.

"What did the Sorting Hat realize about you? To put you in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw, I mean?"

Quirrell froze and stared at her for a moment, an unreadable look upon his face. He then relaxed and laughed, swinging his bag over his shoulder. With a smile, he motioned her to join him as he walked.

Lily hesitated, looking around the classroom. Having Quirrell seat himself next to her was one thing, but deciding to walk down the hallways with him was quite another. Her concern was not for herself, she reasoned, but for Quirrell. Granted, allowing him to escort her to her next class might earn her some teasing from her classmates and start a few rumors, but she supposed it was nothing she couldn't handle. His situation was different, though. He would have to endure the ridicule of his Housemates (not only was she a Gryffindor girl, but she was also a Muggle-born), and he would probably have to put up with endless teasing from James Potter, too. Potter, who seemed to think she was his personal property.

For a second, Quirrell glanced back at her over his shoulder. He appeared puzzled again, as if unable to understand why she wasn't following him, but then it seemed to hit him and all the good humor melted from his face. As his expression first hardened, and then tumbled into dejection, he reminded her of a little boy looking at his ice cream melting on the pavement. It was that crestfallen look more than anything else that convinced her to follow him.

Forcing herself not to look around and see who was watching, Lily took a breath, stepped up beside him, and gave a nod to signal that she was ready to leave. As if by magic, his smile returned and he held the door open for her as they exited.

"So...tell me, Quirrell!" she said once they were out the door, reaching out and giving his forearm an impatient shake. "What did the Hat say to you?"

"Please call me Quirinus, and I'm afraid I have to apologize. It's not really all that interesting, what the Hat told me," he said, "but - oof!"

Quirrell's breath ran out in a sudden, jagged rush and he was jostled forward several feet before tripping to the ground. Stunned, Lily looked around and saw Avery's grinning face several inches above hers.

"Look at that, Evan! Squirrelly's got himself a girlfriend!" Avery shouted back down the hall. Given his close proximity, it was obvious he was the one who had shoved Quirrell down.

With the gentle, benevolent smile of an angel in a painting, Evan Rosier came up to examine the situation with Wilkes not far behind. Rosier's eyes roamed over Lily dispassionately, as if he was sizing up a cut of meat for dinner.

"Surely even you can't be desperate enough to go after a Mudblood, Quirrell," he said lazily, sauntering over to where Quirrell was now standing and trying to catch his breath. Even though Rosier was not a big boy, he almost seemed to tower over Quirrell, and Lily felt sorry for her new acquaintance.

"Oh, please, Rosier," she said, resolved to act and marching over to take Quirrell's wrist. "At least it's a _girl_ he's got."

Though her stab at his sexuality was nothing more than a vague, half-conceived suspicion coupled with the desperate desire to shock him into retreating, she'd had no idea that the barb would strike Rosier so violently.

There were no adequate words to describe the look that came over Evan Rosier's face at that moment. Later on Lily would realize that he had scared her quite a lot, as the very absence of a definable expression made him seem as unsettling as a worn gravestone.

Easily one of the best looking boys in school, Lily was of the opinion that (based on looks alone) Rosier was even more attractive than Sirius Black. This meant that, like Sirius, Rosier had his pick from almost any girl in school. Supposedly he had bedded several girls from differing Houses, but as far as Lily knew, she had yet to meet one of these alleged conquests.

All the color drained away from Rosier's face, leaving his violet eyes like deep, ugly bruises in the sockets. His brows came together and his heart-shaped mouth curled down at the corners, yet even through this brutality he remained beautiful in some distant, ethereal way.

She watched him shift his stack of virgin schoolbooks all into one arm while he thrust his free hand into his robes. She felt Quirinus jerk, trying to use his off-hand to get his own wand out, but then she realized that it was not a wand Rosier was drawing, it was a knife. A second later, eight inches of intricately engraved metal flashed in the dim light of the dungeon halls.

Shooting Quirinus a look of pure contempt, Rosier lifted his chin in a haughty manner that belied the purported lack of money in his family's vaults.

"Don't worry, Quirrell," he said, approaching Lily with his blade brandished. "You can put your wand away. I don't waste my magic on nasty little bitches like this. Mudbloods are only good for one thing - cutting."

Suddenly, there were more steps behind her, and she found herself almost ready to weep in relief, hoping that it was James Potter and his friends. That would at least even their numbers out some.

She glanced around, ready to smile, but the expression froze on her lips. It wasn't James Potter at all. It was Severus Snape and Rodolphus Lestrange…and Bellatrix Black wasn't far behind the two of them. Wonderful.

Her fingers tightened over Quirrell's wrist a little as she tried to decide whether they should stand their ground or just leave. Granted, Quirrell was a prefect, but his ability to dock points wasn't likely to matter much in a situation like this. In fact, trying to dock points might make things worse.

"Look what Quirrell's got for himself, Severus," Rosier was saying, gesturing with his knife. "He's got himself a little whore of a Mudblood to fuck."

Amazingly, Snape did not stop. Given his scholastic record, Lily guessed that he was probably not willing to be late for class over an amusement so petty.

Snape's black eyes flickered over her as he passed, wretched and unreadable, but she got the feeling they were looking at one another with purpose, that some kind of communication was passing between them. A second later, his gaze was gone as he continued to walk.

"Who cares?" Snape called back. "It's just Quirrell. If she's fucking him, it's only a pity fuck." 

At this, Quirrell flushed and looked in the opposite direction. He and Snape did not clash often, but it was always unpleasant when they did. Lily, however, realized what Snape was doing. The way he did it might have been mean, but he was trying to draw Rosier and the others away from the two of them by showing no interest in playing their game.

With a sigh of relief, Lily vowed to herself that she would owe Snape a debt at some later point…if his ploy worked, that was. Though she had no idea what his reasons were for wanting Rosier to leave them alone, she was bright enough to realize that it was not out of concern for her or for Quirrell. Most likely it was because Snape didn't want his best friend in trouble or expelled. But it didn't matter. If this worked, she would owe him.

Rosier lowered his knife and stared after Snape, irritation clear in every feature.

"What?" he called in disbelief. "Come on, Severus! She deserves a cut…and so does he for being blood traitor enough to want to bang her!"

With a sigh of sincere exasperation, Snape slowed a little and looked back over his shoulder.

"I told you I don't care, Evan. What does it matter to me if he wants to dirty his dick on her?"

"Oh, as if you could even _get_ laid, Snivellus!" James Potter's voice suddenly rang down the corridor. "Out of pity, or otherwise!"

This accomplished what Rosier had failed to do. This time, Snape came to a full stop and spun around, his ebony wand at the ready.

"What was that, Potter? I don't quite think I heard you." Snape's voice was soft, but carrying.

Rosier's eyes widened in alarm at this, and he seemed to forget all about stabbing her and Quirrell. He pocketed his knife and hurried off toward Snape without another glance at the two of them.

"No, no, no," he was saying, body blocking Snape's spell path toward James Potter. "It's time for your Arithmancy - let's go." He grabbed Snape's arm as he said this and began to tug.

Curious, Lily watched. There was no way that Rosier was afraid of a confrontation with James Potter and Sirius Black. Even though Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew were joining them, it didn't matter. Everyone knew that Evan Rosier was crazy - he didn't fear anything, especially not something as mundane as dueling in the hallways.

"Come on," Rosier said again, pulling gently at Snape. "Don't mind them."

Snape allowed himself to be led away, hesitating once to glare back at James with undisguised loathing. Wilkes and Avery trailed immediately behind Rosier and Snape, not even bothering to look around. Only Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix Black remained.

If the couple had argued at any point during the day, all appeared to be forgiven now, Lily thought. Tall and graceful, Bellatrix paused to press herself against Lestrange's side.

"Why are you staying, Rodolphus?" Lily heard Bellatrix murmur up at him. "We have to get to class."

"I'm staying because I don't trust Potter not to curse Severus while his back is turned."

A scowl cramping her otherwise lovely face, Black broke away from Lestrange and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

"So?" she demanded. "That's Snape's worry, not yours."

Lestrange shook his head.

"No. I owe him."

Lily started. How odd that Lestrange should vocalize what she'd been thinking only minutes before.

Still looking down at his girlfriend, Lestrange suddenly broke into a smile and scratched at the straggly goatee invading his chin.

"You go on ahead, Bella," he told her. "I'll be along in a minute."

Bellatrix glared up at him, her dark eyes angry. Apparently she was not pleased that he was disobeying her, but she also seemed to think a debate wasn't worth the trouble because she didn't pursue the matter, either.

After gracing Lily and the others with a look fit to scald lava, Black spared one last glance at Lestrange. It was a complicated expression, both aggravated and affectionate. She then departed in the same direction the other Slytherins had gone.

Though Rodolphus Lestrange had done an about-face toward James, Sirius, Remus and Peter during Bellatrix's departure, Lily had not seen him do it. For a boy as big as he was, Lestrange was unexpectedly quick and sure-footed.

"Move," James said approaching the bigger boy, his wand aimed squarely at Lestrange's chest. "My argument isn't with you."

"No," Lestrange said. Even at 15, he had a big, booming voice. This single word, uttered with such finality, echoed down the hall and sounded very impressive. James Potter didn't appear to care.

"I'm giving you a three-count, then I'm going to blast you," James said, pushing his glasses up.

Expression neutral, Lestrange swung his gigantic head around to look at Quirrell, his fellow Slytherin.

"Is Severus gone?" he asked.

For a second, something crafty and unpleasant passed over Quirrell's features, his big blue eyes narrowing to slits. Startled by the abrupt change, Lily released his wrist. The expression was gone less than a second later, leaving her to question whether it had ever been there at all.

Glancing in the direction Snape and Rosier had gone with the others, Quirrell nodded, then realized that Lestrange wasn't looking at him anymore.

"Yes," he said. "All of them are gone."

"All right," Lestrange replied.

Without saying anything further, he turned and walked away, his long, black ponytail whipping out behind him as he went. He moved at a leisurely pace, as if unconcerned by the four boys pointing their wands at his back.

The boys all waited for him to get out of casting distance, then stowed their wands.

"Thanks," Lily said, turning to face James, who was the closest to her.

James grinned and pushed his glasses up again, hazel eyes twinkling.

"No trouble," he said. "But what _were_ you doing with Quirrell, anyway?"

Lily felt a frown knit itself onto her face at that. Couldn't he act like a human being even for five minutes?

"We were talking. And as far as I know, James Potter, that's still permitted."

It was James's turn to scowl.

"Yeah?" he countered. "And was he being a 'juh-juh-gentleman' to you?"

For a second, Lily was literally breathless with anger. She felt her hands fold up into fists, and realized she was taking a step toward Potter without even thinking.

"Unlike some people - yes!" she spat. "He was being very kind...and here's something else you might want to try - he was being nice, too!" She turned on her heel to collect Quirinus and be on her way, but he was no longer standing near the wall where she'd left him.

Several seconds passed as Lily stared at the spot he'd occupied, blinking as if to clear her vision and make him reappear. Failing at that, she looked down the corridor in the same direction all the others had gone and saw him retreating, almost running. His book bag bounced against his slender hip as he hurried, the strap slipping down his shoulder.

For a moment she felt guilty and contemplated going after him. She shouldn't have ignored him, she knew, even if it was just for a few seconds to thank James and Sirius. Quirrell had done her a great many services in a short span of time and she should have been more thankful for it. It was not every day that someone helped her out in class, then tried to save her from being attacked with a knife.

She heard Potter and the others leave in the opposite direction, but didn't bother to turn. Instead she contented herself with watching Quirrell's figure shrink as he walked.

Though she was still very curious as to what the Sorting Hat had seen in him, she knew she could ask him later. And besides, after seeing that shifty, conniving look fleet across his face, she supposed she could guess what the Hat had seen in his heart after all.

**More Notes:** As usual, I had no beta reader, but I had a lot of plot genesis and expansion help from query and spellvira. But because there is no beta, I would appreciate it if my inconsistencies and errors were pointed out.

I apologize if this is a bad or jerky read. I've never tried to handle so many HP characters and sub-plots at once, so the experience is a little new.

With any luck, you'll be left with a lot of questions after this part. That's good. I have a ways to go before they're answered. :)

I imagine some people will balk at this story because Rowling describes Quirrell as 'young' in _Sorcerer's Stone_, which many readers and writers take mean that he was in his early or mid 20s. This makes the idea of Quirrell being the same age as Snape and the Marauders into a fanon no-no. However, since Rowling also describes Lupin (who is the same age as Snape) as looking young, it seemed reasonable to work off the same premise for Quirrell.

For me, there's a satisfying symmetry in making Quirrell (who is later unable to touch Harry because of Lily's sacrifice) into Lily Evans's boyfriend. Ultimately, though, this story is just meant in fun and is my attempt at a truly rare pairing. In fact, I believe this is the only Lily/Quirrell story on the internet.

Incidentally, as much as I loathe James Potter and would cheerfully have made Harry into Quirrell's son, if at all possible, I did make an effort to keep in mind that Lily ended up in love with James. It was very difficult for me, though, so I'd appreciate a shout if that element seems to be missing.

I gave Quirrell the first name 'Quirinus', as that seems to be from the source closest to Rowling's own mouth, and also fits in with her alliterative style of naming instructors. There is the additional bonus of some irony since Quirinus was an early Roman war god. Go ahead. Laugh. It's funny - timid little Quirrell as a god of war.

Finally, I wanted to add that I'm aware Quirrell's stutter is affected, but since we know nothing of his past, it seemed feasible to give him the impediment in his younger years, as well. This would not only enable him to stutter convincingly later on, but people might be less apt to think its sudden onset odd if it was something he had before. Its genesis, though, is merely a plot device. I just wanted him to be immediately recognizable as Quirrell to the reader.

Okay. Enough notes. Sorry.


	2. She doth teach the torches to burn

**Title :** When Masks Fall (2 of 13)

**Author:** ivyclarice  
**Summary:** Lily Evans must've dated _someone_ before James Potter.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** 5th year at Hogwarts: Evan Rosier, Severus Snape, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black, Avery, Wilkes, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans, Quirinus Quirrell  
**Pairings:** Lily/Quirrell, Bellatrix/Rodolphus  
**Warnings:** Adult language  
**Word Count:** 7,301  
**Author's Notes:** Because of _The Half-Blood Prince_, I had to rewrite and repost chapter one of this story, shifting Professor Heller to the Divination position. Those of you who've already read chapter one may either re-read it in its new form (only slightly edited), or you can just assume that all the action happened in Divination class and leave it alone. In addition, I had to shuffle the 5th year students' schedule so that Gryffindor and Slytherin share Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.

_**When Masks Fall**_

Chapter 2: "O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!"

-_Romeo and Juliet_, (Act I, Scene V)

Part of Lily dreaded going to dinner after the whole drama outside of the Divination classroom earlier in the day.

So far, she'd managed to stay socially clear from most of her other Housemates by appearing quite caught up in their afternoon class and by hiding herself behind a formidable stack of books in the common room while the others all relaxed and waited for dinner. Though the O.W.L.s were still a long time off, people studying hard at all hours of the day was a sight starting to become more common.

Despite her cover, Lily was aware of the frank, curious stares of the other Gryffindors and knew that this could only mean one thing: the stories about her and Quirrell had already begun.

When five o'clock finally came, she knew it was hopeless. There could be no more pretending to read books. She was going to have to endure the stares, whispers and questions. Though as a pretty, popular girl, she was somewhat used to this, it never made the experience any more welcome or easy.

She watched the first wave of people exit the common room for the Great Hall, and then stood to gather her things. Normally, she didn't bring books to dinner, but she intended to go to the library after dinner and didn't want to make the extra trip back to Gryffindor Tower to collect her books. It was easier just to drag them along with her.

Turning to stuff _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_ into her bag, she managed to drop two of her other books onto the floor, then knock her bag over as well. She gave a rueful laugh. She had been waiting for most of the others to leave so that she could walk alone, and this little accident had certainly bought her the time to do so. And goodness knew it seemed like she was making a career of dropping books lately.

As she bent down to retrieve her dropped books, she was startled to see another pair of hands already on the scene to help her. Glancing up, she saw that the hands belonged to Remus Lupin.

He caught her looking and gave her a smile. Of all James Potter's friends, Lupin was the easiest to get along with. Quiet and kind, he was the sort of boy who would pause to help injured animals and damsels in distress – and a damsel in distress was what she currently was.

"Thank you," she said, holding out her hands to receive her rescued texts. "I don't know what's the matter with me today."

"It's quite all right," Lupin said, waiting as she reorganized her load. "It's fortunate, actually. I wanted to talk to you."

Fastening her bag, Lily turned to regard Lupin. She thought he looked a bit sheepish, but knew that could just be because of his shaggy hair and almost melancholy eyes. She'd learned over time that his looks were deceiving. Though he was as kind as he appeared, he was neither melancholy nor timid. He had a very ready (if slightly zany) sense of humor and could turn into quite the shark if put upon.

"That's fine," she told him. "We can walk to the Great Hall together, if you like - kill two birds with one stone."

He didn't say anything, but headed toward the door. Smiling a little, Lily followed.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier today," he told her, stepping through the Fat Lady's portrait hold.

Puzzled, Lily lifted her eyebrows.

"Why?" she asked. "You didn't anything wrong."

They walked a few moments in silence, Lupin clearly thinking.

"I'm a prefect, Lily," he said suddenly, shifting his gaze to meet hers. "I should've done something - stepped in, you know."

"So what you're a prefect?" Lily countered. "Quirrell is a prefect; he didn't do anything. Bellatrix Black is a prefect; she didn't do anything…"

"Yes, but you can't honestly expect _her_…"

"It doesn't matter, though, Remus. What matters is that you weren't the only prefect there who didn't act."

At this, Lupin fell silent. He didn't seem happy with her logic, but he appeared to accept it. Maybe he just wanted a reason to punish himself, or to feel guilty, Lily thought. She had long suspected that he had some sort of guilt complex, and this only seemed to confirm it.

"Did you like him?" Lupin asked a moment later, swerving to avoid a group of second year Hufflepuffs who all turned to look at the two of them with a measure of respect that made Lily feel uncomfortable. She remembered being their age and being a bit awed by the older students, but couldn't remember it being that obvious.

"What?" she asked, turning to look at Lupin instead of the second years. "Oh, Quirrell you mean?" She paused to mull this over, surprised to realize that she hadn't actually asked herself this question.

"You certainly seemed to like him," Lupin said after mistaking her silence for secretiveness. "I was just wondering because you were awfully keen to hide behind your books when we got back to the common room. I thought maybe you were embarrassed."

Lily froze in mid-step. Lupin might as well have tossed a bucketful of icy water on her face for all the unpleasant shock she felt. Not only was it humiliating to know that her 'studying' ploy hadn't worked at all (she now understood that it had probably made people more curious than ever about what had really gone on), but the worst part was knowing that the reason she'd been hiding in the first place was because she _had_ liked Quirrell. Very, very much. So much, in fact, that she was afraid her friends and Housemates might see it on her. And why was she embarrassed? Because Quirrell was an unpopular Slytherin boy and she was being rotten enough to worry about her reputation.

"You're right," she said at last, looking at Lupin, who had also stopped and was beginning to regard her with some alarm. "I did like him, and I was embarrassed." She shook her head, unable to believe how awful she was. "I liked him and I didn't want anyone to know I did. How horrid is that?"

Lupin shifted uncomfortably and Lily sighed. He was renowned for his sympathetic listening, but apparently that didn't extend to 'girl talk'. But then again, the two of them were not especially close. Taking pity on him for his obvious distress, she began to walk again and tried changing the subject.

"So what about you, Remus? Have you been studying for your O.W.L.s?"

His shoulders settled back down as he fell into step beside her.

"Not too much yet," he said. "It's a few months away still, so James and Sirius aren't too interested in preparing."

"I didn't ask about them."

Lupin looked at her as though she was slightly dense.

"Yes, but they're my friends. Every time I sit down to study ahead, they want me do something else." He grinned suddenly, flashing very nice, very white teeth. "And usually 'something else' is a lot more fun than studying for our O.W.L.s, so I do it."

Lily smiled back. He had a good point.

"Here," he said with a nod, stepping aside as they reached the Great Hall. "You go first."

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, Lily gathered her courage. At heart, she was a stubborn, independent girl who almost always obeyed her feelings rather than her thoughts, and if ever there was a time to be that girl, it was now. Taking a deep breath, she went inside the Great Hall and looked around. Nothing happened. There was no wave of silence, no hundreds of eyes staring, no whispering. A few heads turned in her direction to take note of the new arrival, perhaps lingering a little longer than normal before returning to their food and conversation (or maybe that was just her paranoia).

Struggling to get control over what was left of her anxiety, she paused in the entryway to look over at the Slytherin table and find Quirrell. She saw him sitting at the end of the table closest to where she'd entered, several empty seats next to him and a large book open beside his plate. Though noticing him was still rather novel, she'd been to school with him long enough to know that this was the norm for him. The other Slytherins usually left him to his own devices, and more often than not, his only companion was a book. It took her a second to realize that he was eyeing her rather fretfully Or maybe he only looked fretful because of his wide yes. Either way, though, he was watching her with expectation.

It suddenly struck Lily that this was what the saying 'the moment of truth' actually meant. She had two choices: she could pretend not to notice him and walk to her table (thusly saving her the worries she'd been brooding over since that afternoon), or she could smile at him for the world to see (which would open the door to possible ridicule…or worse). But what to do? How much did she like him? How much did she care what other people thought?

The two of them stared at one another for what seemed like forever, his face becoming more and more worried as the tenths of seconds ticked past. At last she smiled, unable to stop it. Trying to deny herself the pleasure of him was like trying to deny the pleasure of a kitten; he was just too cute.

An answering smile grew across his face and he raised a hand in greeting. The motion caused several heads at the Slytherin table to turn, but resolved in her course of action, Lily waved back. She then continued on her way to her own table, head high. Let Rosier and Snape leer if they wanted, she was going to eat and not worry about it.

Quirrell watched Lily Evans walk over to join the other Gryffindors, her auburn hair floating cloudlike around her shoulders. He hadn't thought she'd smile at him. Why would she? He was a stuttering runt with no friends, and she…wasn't. She was the complete opposite, in fact. Still though, she _had_ smiled at him, and now all he could do was watch her walk away.

Like other boys in the school, Quirrell had eyed Lily with growing appreciation over the past year. She was pretty, friendly and a good student, so really it was difficult not to notice her, but he'd never dreamed of talking to her until about two weeks ago, after seeing her turn down James Potter's advances in the Great Hall at breakfast. If Evans could refuse even good-looking, athletic James Potter, then surely Quirrell could take a small risk. After all, there was no way he'd be foolish enough to approach her in a large room with everyone in the school watching, so when she spurned him it would at least be more private.

He realized that the only real opportunity he'd have to talk to her would be in either Divination or Care of Magical Creatures, the two classes that Gryffindor and Slytherin shared. He quickly rejected Care of Magical Creatures because that was a loud, active outdoor class that wouldn't allow any intimacy. Sitting next to her in Divination was a bit of a gamble however, because there was always the chance she could turn him down in classroom full of people. In the end, though, he'd decided that he had nothing to lose. She was either going to like him or not like him, no matter where he sat in class. The only catch was coming up with a plan that was guaranteed to give him the chance to join her. But despite this reassuring talk with himself, it had still taken him the full two weeks to work up the courage to formulate and execute a plan he thought would work.

At the start he'd felt foolish, first lurking behind her as she exited her History of Magic class with the other Gryffindor 5th years, next casting a subtle disarming spell as she walked so that she'd have to linger to gather her texts and papers from the floor where they'd fallen.

His heart beginning to hammer in his chest, he'd then worried that his ploy wouldn't take up enough time, that she wouldn't be late enough to Divination to have to sit alone. He didn't dare risk knocking her books from her arms again, however. Once could be construed as clumsiness, a second time might merit suspicion. Besides, if his strategy didn't work out properly this time, there was nothing to stop him trying it again in the future.

As he continued to tail her, he realized that one of the things he hadn't taken into consideration when formulating his plan was the distance between Professor Binns's classroom and the North Tower. Trailing her for so great a distance had potential problems because the longer he followed her, the greater were his chances of being caught at it. It had worked to his advantage though, because he was the last to arrive. By the time he'd walked into class, Lily had already set up her things and had her chin resting lightly in the palm of her hand, not even noticing him as he sat down. Even then he'd been petrified, but for once in his life, something had worked out.

He flinched as his copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ suddenly slammed closed beside his plate.

Cross at being jarred out of his happy reminiscence about sitting next to Lily Evans, Quirrell turned his head to stare down the table at his Slytherin Housemates, trying to figure out which one had done it. He wasn't surprised to see Evan Rosier's nastily grinning face pointed in his direction.

Quirrell sighed. Leave it to Rosier to be foolish enough to use a spell right in front of the Staff table but manage to get away with it. Ah, but there was Snape, as if on cue, firing a glare at Rosier from across the table. Quirrell watched Snape's lips move as he said something that looked brief and cutting. Rosier glowered back, and said something that looked equally as unpleasant. He then stood up and stalked his way down towards Quirrell's end of the table.

Taking a deep breath, Quirrell tried to appear relaxed and unconcerned by gathering up his books and putting them in his bag. Like most people with good sense, Quirrell found Rosier nerve-wracking. There was something about the other boy - a look, a feel, maybe even a scent - that spoke of nothing but violence and chaos. Only Rosier's other friends seemed unaware of this aura about him, and even they not entirely, because every once in a while, Snape would sarcastically refer to Rosier as 'the Morningstar' or (even more rarely) 'the Lightbringer'.

With an intelligence, drive and curiosity that nearly rivaled Snape's, Quirrell had looked these phrases up in book after book in the library, even gaining admittance to the Restricted Section to try and find some clue as to what the names meant. After three weeks of effort, it was by accident that he found 'the Morningstar' in a library book while looking for some recreational reading. The book (obviously meant to help 7th year students taking Muggle Studies) was called _Secrets of Muggle Christianity Unraveled_. The Morningstar, apparently, was none other than the Devil himself, and 'the Lightbringer' was merely another name for him.

Because Wizarding and Muggle cultures had once lived side by side, Satan was a concept that Quirrell could acknowledge and understand, but knew little about. The book had actually not offered much explanation about the Devil, but Quirrell was bright enough to make the necessary inference: even Snape understood that Rosier was little more than a demon in boys' clothing. However, this inference had allowed Quirrell an additional observation: Severus Snape took his Muggle Studies very seriously. An odd subject for a Slytherin's interest, Quirrell thought, but certainly not unheard of…especially with an overachiever like Snape. He had stored this tidbit away in the back of his mind, nevertheless. Information like that about Snape might prove useful one day. Profitable, even.

Settling down across from him, Rosier laid his yew wand on the table and offered the same unpleasant smile he'd given a few minutes earlier, then gestured at Quirrell's books.

"Leaving us, are you?"

Quirrell opened his mouth to reply, but sensed a stutter coming. Counting slowly to three, he tried to get it under control.

"Yes, I'm leaving," he said once he was ready. "I'm going to go study."

The ugly little smile melted off Rosier's face and he leaned in closer. Watching the other boy's hands carefully for any sign he might go for his wand, Quirrell realized that Rosier was in no mood to play around and tease. He just wanted to spew his threats and be done with it.

"So, you've got yourself a Mudblood girlfriend," Rosier said, voice strangely flat.

"She n-not my girlfriend, Evan. We just talked in d-d-d-Divination today."

Rosier looked away for a moment, distracted by the black blur that was Snape sitting down beside him.

"I can handle this myself, Severus," Rosier said, his tone snippier than he usually took with his friend. "Honestly, I don't see why you have to hover over my shoulder all the time."

Snape said nothing for a moment, his black eyes fixed on Quirrell. Attempting to look unperturbed, Quirrell stared back. He and Snape had never gotten along, but this year was the worst he could remember. He suspected Slughorn tapping him for prefecture over Snape was what had done it, although that could not excuse years past.

"I don't like you, Quirrell," Snape said abruptly, almost as if reading his mind, "and I have no desire at all to help you, but Evan is about to give you advice I think you'll find valuable. I suggest you take it."

Quirrell arched a politely curious eyebrow, but refrained from comment. He tried to search Snape's pale face for any clue as to what he was thinking, but it remained impassive and icy as a statue's. He then shifted his eyes back over to Rosier who was about to speak.

"She's not your girlfriend, then?" Rosier asked, mocking.

Rolling his eyes, Quirrell shook his head and wondered how much more immature the git could be.

"N-n-no," he snapped. "She's not my girlfriend. I told you, we just sat together in Divination and t-talked a little. That's all."

"Are you sure?"

Usually reserved and mindful of himself, this forced Quirrell over the edge, his temper breaking with what seemed an audible crack.

"Y-yes, I'm sure!" he spat back. "Why, Rosier? Are you jealous of her? Are _you_ interested in me? Should I be t-t-t-talking to you in Divination, instead? Would you like to go out on a d-date with me?"

There was a beat of silence between the three boys, but then Snape laughed, startling Quirrell out of his brief fit of anger. Quirrell could not recall having heard him laugh before and was taken aback by it. The sound was quiet and smooth, and not at all unpleasant. Normally sullen, Severus Snape was given to terseness rather than hilarity…but nice fellow that he was, a joke at his friend's expense seemed to have turned the trick and amused him.

Startled at this mutiny, Rosier first glared at Snape then stood up and lunged across the table to grab at Quirrell's shirt.

"You pillow-biting little bastard!"

Even smaller and quicker than Rosier, Quirrell managed to dodge his way out of danger, then saw Rosier fumbling for the wand he'd placed on the table. Anticipating this move, Snape had already snatched his friend's wand up and was holding it out of his reach with one hand while trying to drag Rosier back down to a sitting position with the other.

"Stop it, Evan!" Snape said. "Don't be an idiot! Dumbledore's up there!"

Though this was obviously important to Snape, Rosier didn't seem to care. It was only after several seconds of struggling and swearing that Snape was able to get him to sit down again.

"Seems to me that you're the one who likes t-to bite the pillow, Rosier." Quirrell taunted, swinging his book bag up onto his shoulder so that he could make his retreat to the library. "Do you do what Snape tells you in the b-bedroom, too? Or is it just in puh-puh-public?"

What little color there was to Snape's face drained away, leaving his eyes very black and his lips very red. Quirrell realized that he'd overstepped any kind of truce there'd been between them, no matter how fragile, but was determined not to back down. Rosier, for his part, was furious. His face was the color of old brick and flashes of his teeth were visible beneath his curled lip.

"Blood traitors aren't welcome in Slytherin House, Quirrell," Snape said as the other turned to leave. His voice was even and quiet despite the cold rage on his face. "As I said before, that's advice I suggest you take."

Though anxiety gnawed at his insides, Quirrell kept his head held up. The altercation hadn't gone the way he'd envisioned, and it had probably done him some harm, but still, it was a nice change to walk away from a fight feeling as though he hadn't come off a coward.

"With all d-due respect, to hell with you both. If being a blood traitor means I can have a girl rather than being 'pure' poufs like you two, then so be it."

Smiling a little, Quirrell took the opportunity to leave before either boy could decide he didn't care about all the instructors present and went after him anyway. He realized that he was in a good mood despite the new threat of Snape and Rosier wanting to get even with him. He had stood up for himself and hadn't let either of them threaten him. Even though the things he'd said had only been designed to needle them, he still felt accomplished. It was a stupid move, he supposed, but it was wonderful, too.

Entering the library a few minutes later, Quirrell looked around for a table to spread out at. Since most of the other students were still at dinner, he had his pick. He chose the table nearest Madame Pince and settled in, pulling books out of his bag and checking the entrance every few minutes. He may have shown some bravery in the Great Hall, but he wasn't stupid. Snape would come to the library as soon as he was done with dinner, and Quirrell wanted to be sure that he was safely within Pince's eyesight. Of course, this plan was only good until the library closed at 8 o'clock, but it was better than nothing. He would have to worry later about what he'd do once he got back to the Slytherin dorms, though he thought maybe his prefect's badge would save him a lot of trouble that he might otherwise been forced to endure.

It didn't take him long to get caught up in the series of rune dictionaries he had scattered across his table. An intelligent boy, Quirrell liked the challenge that Ancient Runes posed him. It was very much like learning a new language, but even more demanding because aside from learning how to write and recognize the Futhark alphabet, one also had to learn how to Divine the future with it. 

After fifteen minutes of going back and forth between his parchment and references, he was so involved in his studies that he didn't even notice Snape and Rosier enter with Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange until they were practically on top of him. Startled by their unexpected proximity to him, he twitched and pulled away from where they were passing. First glancing back to make sure Madame Pince was at her desk (she was), he turned and watched as the four of them sat down only two tables away.

Snape immediately took out a stack of textbooks, several rolls of parchment and a quill made from a feather as black as his hair. He paused to give Quirrell a stare so ominous that the other boy felt like sweeping up his rune dictionaries and leaving, but he managed to hold his ground and wait until Snape dropped his head down over his work. Rodolphus Lestrange was also hard at work with his Transfiguration textbook, but Rosier and Bellatrix apparently had no intention of cracking open any books. They appeared to be gearing up for a game of Wizard Chess which, though frowned upon, was permitted in the library. Every few minutes, Rosier would look up at Quirrell, his face twisted with hate, which was daunting at first, but soon Rosier got sucked up into his game and his glares became less frequent.

With a sigh, Quirrell returned to his studies. First, he picked up the book he'd been consulting before the other Slytherins had entered, and then he thumbed back to the entry for 'Thurisaz', which was represented by a sapphire as its gemstone and was a caution against dark knowledge and harmful obsessions.

Clutching his nightingale feather quill in his hand, he started to write, but didn't manage to do so for very long. Only another fifteen minutes went by before a stack of books thumped down onto his table, making him jump. Quirrell made an anxious sweep across the table, trying to get his materials out of the way. No one ever sat with him, so he usually had the run of his immediate area...but he hadn't looked up yet. There was always the possibility that his visitor was one of Snape and Rosier's other friends and not some third year desperate for a place to sit.

With some anxiety, Quirrell raised his head to inspect the situation.

"Hello, again. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

All he could do was blink.

"Of course," he finally managed. "You're always welcome t-to sit with me, Lily."

Smiling (a little nervously, he thought), Lily Evans sat down at the head of the table then turned her chair at a diagonal so that she was facing him. There was an awkward silence as the two of them looked at one another, and Quirrell thought he might actually pass out from happy embarrassment. It seemed like everyone in the room was staring at them, but so much the better for him. Let the world see that Lily Evans liked him enough to sit down with him. Perhaps they'd think better of him.

Her eyes, green and catlike, bored into him a moment longer, but then she brushed a tendril of her dark red hair behind her ear in the same way she had in Divination class and looked down at the table. He watched as she elbowed her own pile of books aside and then, reading the titles of his, reached out to swing one of them around to face. Protesting this invasion of his belongings did not occur to him, but he would not have denied her, even had the thought struck him.

"_Advanced Rune Techniques_," she read aloud. "I didn't know you took Ancient Runes."

"I have since third year," he said. "It's a fascinating subject."

She looked up and smiled at him again. His heart ran at a ferocious pace for the span of a dozen beats as it sank in that she was smiling at _him_, it then regained its normal rhythm. Marshalling his self-control, he was able to return her smile with the same tiny grin he'd used during Divination class. He didn't think it was his imagination; she had seemed quite responsive to it earlier. As if in proof, two spots of crimson appeared in her cheeks and settled there, but she did not avert her eyes from his.

"I know it's an interesting subject," she said. "I take it, too. In fact, I really ought to be doing my homework for it, but I just had to ask you something."

Quirrell felt his stomach do a slow, lazy flip. It couldn't be, could it? Could Lily Evans actually be getting ready to ask him on a date to Hogsmeade? Already?

"Oh, of course. Please, ask m-me anything." He said this more quickly than he would've liked, and chastised himself for sounding too eager; perhaps even desperate. But he could tell that this answer seemed to please her, though he couldn't see why it would. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and her smile grew a little wider.

"That's so kind, thank you," she said, her face still a little redder than usual. "I just wanted to ask you about the Hat."

He blinked.

"The Hat?" he echoed back, hoping his disappointment was fully veiled.

Lily nodded.

"The Sorting Hat. We were talking about it in Divination, remember? You told me it saw something in you that made it put you in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw."

Quirrell felt a faint wrinkle of irritation crease his brow. He was beginning to regret ever mentioning that stupid Hat, though on the upside, the suspense of not telling her what it had said was driving her mad. Certainly she kept coming back for more of him, trying to find out. He was worried, however, that she was going to feel let down by his answer once he finally gave it.

"I re-remember," he said. "But I told you before Avery pushed me that it wuh-wasn't very exciting."

She cocked an 'oh, really' eyebrow at him and inclined her head in challenge, and he grinned in spite of himself, amused and flattered by the fact that she didn't believe that his story was dull. It was a pleasant surprise to finally find someone who didn't think him uninteresting.

"All right, all right," he gave in, waving his hands to deflect her. "Juh-just don't hold it against me when I turn out to be boring."

Lily's expression became serious and she shook her head.

"I don't believe that for a second, Quirinus. There's more to you than just a Quidditch pitch, or a textbook, or something like that."

"Ha. A puh-puh-pep talk. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now spill it."

Quirrell paused to think about the words he wanted to use, though he also had to admit that he was flustered by her interest and was trying to rebound from that as much as he was planning what to say.

"Well, if you remember, I was called up for the Sorting right after James Potter, which is really a d-difficult act for anyone to follow," he said, feeling a bit sardonic.

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Please. Did you have to bring _him_ into it?"

"I think so. It's in the school r-r-rules, isn't it? Mentioning James puh-puh-Potter in the context of every sentence?"

He was gratified to see Lily burst into laughter, her eyes wide, as if she couldn't believe what he'd said. He smiled at her, pleased to have made her laugh, and his smile widened when she suddenly clapped her hands over her mouth to choke off the loud noise. Looking hesitantly over her shoulder in the direction of Madame Pince, Quirrell watched as she slunk down into her seat.

"She's looking at me," Lily said, her voice small.

Out of the corner of his eye, Quirrell saw that Madame Pince was not the only one. The table of Slytherins was also looking over in their direction, as was a table full of her Gryffindor Housemates, James Potter among them. Still though, this seemed no reason to ruin Lily's good time.

"Of c-c-course she's looking at you," he said. "I imagine people back in Gryffindor Tower heard you."

She laughed again, much more quietly this time, then straightened up and gave him an accusatory frown.

"Why do you keep avoiding this?" she demanded suddenly, as if just catching on to something. "Are you ever going to tell me what it said to you?"

Quirrell couldn't help but continue grinning. He had never imagined that Lily Evans would be this feisty and demanding. When he saw her with her friends, she usually seemed relaxed and fun-loving. In class, she was attentive and articulate, and on the occasions that they had both attended Professor Slughorn's parties, she had been sharp-witted and lively, but Quirrell had never seen her like this - impulsive and almost bossy. Fortunately, he rather liked it.

"Actually, I was juh-just going to tell you, but you're the one who interrupted me," he pointed out. "When I mentioned juh-juh-James." 

She uttered a little gasp and looked abashedly at him.

"Oh, Quirinus, I'm sorry! You're absolutely right." She rested her chin in the palm of her hand and looked at him. "Please go on. I really want to hear this."

Eyeing her for any sign that she might interrupt him again, Quirrell finally took a breath and started again, contemplating his fingernails as he spoke.

"At any rate, I was very n-n-nervous when Professor McGonagall put the Sorting Hat on my head," he flicked his eyes up from his hands to check on Lily and found that she was still watching him carefully. Seeing him look at her, she gave him an encouraging smile and he went on. "I felt awful when she p-put it on my head and it just sat there," he said. "I d-don't know if you remember, but a lot of the people before me seemed to be Sorted so quickly...I felt conspicuous just sitting there w-waiting for it to make up its mind."

Lily nodded at this, and Quirrell remembered that she, too, had sat under the Hat for quite some time.

"I felt the same way," she told him. "It seemed like it took forever to place me. First it told me that I'd be well-suited to Ravenclaw, and then it told me that I had what it took to make a good Gryffindor, and _then_ it told me that I'd make a respectable Slytherin, if only I'd been born to a Wizard."

Quirrell felt his eyebrows go up at that. Though he had tried not to place any assumptions on her, he was amazed to find that he had. No matter what he thought he'd been prepared for, finding out that the Sorting Hat had seen a touch of Slytherin in the heart of Lily Evans was just not it. He debated remarking upon it, but then opted not to. Despite the fact that she was confident enough to mention her brush with being Sorted into Slytherin, he felt it could be unwise to dwell upon it. Most people outside of Slytherin House were not proud of being considered for it.

"Oh, well, you understand then," he said. "It was an awful feeling. I juh-just sat there while it talked about where it should put me. It told me how smart I was, and how I had a thirst for n-n-knowledge that made me ideal for Ravenclaw, but then..." he trailed off here, uncertain how to continue. When he'd told her earlier that the Sorting Hat had seen something in him that made it realize he was a better candidate for Slytherin than for Ravenclaw, he really hadn't expected her to latch onto it in the way she had. He had expected her to just dismiss it as a given, to just accept that he was a Slytherin without ever questioning why. But now that she wanted an answer, he wasn't sure he wanted to give it. The two of them were building an incredible rapport and he was afraid to spoil it.

"But then..._what_?" she prompted a few seconds later, urging another smile from him. Anyone who had an image of her as a patient girl obviously didn't know her very well. But regardless of her insistence, he still didn't speak. Should he tell her everything, or should he gloss it over? Total honesty or a white lie?

He made his choice, and then went on.

"When it said that I was brilliant, and that I had a real thirst for knowledge, I got very excited. I started imagining that I would be the smartest one in our year, and that I'd be the s-star of the school." He felt a blush spanning his face, but didn't let it stop him. "And that was when it looked into my heart and realized that I was willing to do anything to g-g-get what I wanted."

Lily just stared at him.

"A lot of people are ambitious, Quirinus," she finally said. "I don't see why you made such a fuss about telling me."

"You d-d-d-don't understand, Lily. It told me that I was willing to do _anything_ - good or bad, ethical or unethical - to get what I want. It saw that I'd use any means I could to achieve my ends, no m-matter who I hurt or what I d-destroyed." He stared at her, trying to force the full implication of what this meant upon her. "It tuh-tuh-_told_ me that," he repeated. "And it was right."

Eyes now wide, Lily settled back in her chair and looked at him. It was difficult not to fidget under her scrutiny, but he managed. All he could do was watch her think over what he'd said and hope that his honesty had been worthwhile.

"Would you kill someone to get what you wanted?" she asked him at length.

Surprised, Quirrell sat back further in his own chair and considered. Though this was a question he'd asked himself, he had not expected Lily to be so forthright as to ask it. He gave her the only answer he'd been able to give himself.

"I don't know," he said. "I can't imagine there ever being anything that I'd want badly enough to kill for, but sometimes I w-wonder." He looked at her closely, thinking of what he'd done to force her to where she was at that moment. He'd snuck around after and cast spells on her to manipulate events in his favor, and why? Because he wanted her. But as truthful as he'd been up to this point, there was no chance that he'd tell her what he'd done. It was better to lie than to lose the bond they'd forged. Still though, he was proud that, no matter how he'd forced events, he'd never forced _her_. He might have given her no choice but to sit next to him in class, but her decision to like him was all her own.

As she had before, she sat and digested his answer, her green eyes never leaving his face. He was aware of a jitter in his stomach that was making him feel ill and realized that he was nervous. What was she thinking about him? Was he distasteful to her now?

"You'd do anything to get what you want?" she repeated at last, leaning forward again so that she could study him more closely.

"Yes."

"And what is it that you want?"

For a moment, the word 'you' threatened to spill from his lips, but he kept himself from uttering it. Though it was an honest answer, it was clichéd and more obsessive than he felt comfortable sharing, especially since there was still the threat of his intensity repelling her.

Slowly, he smiled.

"Well, right n-n-now, I want to get my Ancient Runes assignment over with," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I've been p-putting it off for days."

Lily smiled back.

"I know I said this before, but I really ought to do mine, too." She hesitated, then stood and began to put her stack of books back together. Quirrell felt his heart sink, but suddenly, she stopped what she was doing and looked at him again. "Would you like to work together?" she offered in a single rush of breath, looking as nervous as Quirrell had felt earlier. "I know we're in different classes, but the assignment's probably the same."

"P-probably," he stammered, his mood lifting as hope flooded through him.

"So, together then?" she asked for confirmation, motioning toward his books.

Quirrell nodded.

"Tuh-together."

He watched Lily sit back down and sort through her stack of books, she then paused to triumphantly show him the doppelgangers of two books he had somewhere in the sea of texts spread out around him.

"I knew I had these with me," she said. "I was planning on coming here after dinner to do some work, anyway." Though it was hard to tell in the dim light of the library, Quirrell was sure that two patches of color had once again grown on her face. "It'll be a nice change to work with you, Quirinus."

Nightingale quill again in hand, Quirrell froze and looked at her. Only in his most savored daydreams had his success with Lily Evans ever come this far, and now that he was here, he wasn't quite sure what to do. It was obvious that she liked him, and genuinely so. It was even more obvious, he thought, that he liked her in return.

He watched as she pulled out a roll of parchment and started to scrawl across it, consulting one of her rune dictionaries for a second before going on. He then realized that he might as well get to work, too. There was plenty of time to worry about what to do with the future, but their essays were due in two days.

He bent his head down to write, but the sudden sensation of eyes upon him gave him a chill, and he looked curiously around the room. His first reaction was to check on Evan Rosier and see if the little sociopath was glaring at him again, but he was surprised to find Rosier leaning over to check Snape's textbook, not even vaguely interested in what Quirrell and Lily were doing.

Snape did not seem concerned either. He merely waited for Rosier to finish reading, then pointed at something on the parchment between them and shook his head. With a scowl, Rosier scratched out what was there then started to write something over it, and Quirrell dismissed them. But this still left the question of who was staring at him. If it wasn't Rosier or Snape doing it, then who was? Or was he just imagining things?

Casting his eyes around the room, Quirrell inspected each occupied table and found no one who appeared to be looking. Then he came to the Gryffindor table and stopped.

James Potter was glowering at him with a look of resentment so embittering his face that Quirrell had to force himself not to shift in his seat. Potter usually didn't bother with him. Snape was the bane of the Quidditch King's existence, while Quirrell had always been a little nobody floating along the periphery of Potter's world. This new animosity was an unpleasant surprise.

Summoning every bit of his willpower, Quirrell met Potter's stare and held it for several defiant seconds before finally going back to his essay with a shaky hand and a queasy stomach. Although he sincerely hoped that their stare-off was not a challenge, he had to prepare himself for the possibility that it was. Ultimately, though, it didn't matter. To him, Lily was worth the acrimony of both his fellow Slytherins and her fellow Gryffindors. But only time would tell if she felt the same way.


End file.
